Bad Day
by flaws-and-all
Summary: Butters is struggling with his depression on a day where he has no idea where Kenny is, or if he's alive. (Mentions of self-harm.)


He never came back. This could mean a number of things. He got distracted and forgot he said he'd come back, or his parents needed him with Karen at home, or he's dead. His phone broke the other day when he slipped on the iced over road. We're saving up for a new one. It would be nice if it could come back good as new, like he does. It can't.

He told me to stay here no matter what like he always does, because he doesn't like when I find his body. It makes him sad. He'll usually give me a sign if he died, or I'll get a call or a text from someone telling me about it or asking if I knew already. I always know within a few hours, usually.

He left last night. I haven't had breakfast or lunch and I know my parents will be calling me down for dinner soon. I haven't really been able to move. My bed and my phone are the only things that don't feel foreign to my touch. He could be on his way right now. He could be a call away.

My room gets darker every time I look away from the screen. The nerves in my stomach tighten when I see a new hour. Now it's been twenty two. It would be fine, not so bad if it wasn't the start of a new month. That's always when the thoughts are the strongest and I can't push them back.

We never break skin, he told me. Never to bleed and never on purpose. I slap at my arms sometimes, just until they sting as much as they're numb. It's something. I'll draw, too. Or let the pen run on my skin. Lately that doesn't work so well. It looks too pretty, I want to ruin it.

I'll rub at the drawings until my skin is more than irritated and my arms are smeared with ink. He'll kiss at it when he sees it, if he comes in time to. Most of the time, he does. I'll pretend it wasn't so bad, knowing he might've seen everything. He'll look at me and hold me and kiss me.

They're calling for me downstairs. I don't want to. I can't fake it, and I don't want to hear their voices. Sometimes they'll look at the calendar and leave me alone. Sometimes they'll march up here and spit their insults at me before they realize I can't hear a word.

Sometimes, on a rare occasion, they'll leave the plate by my door and knock to let me know it's there. This is usually the nights that they're sore at life too. Tonight must be one of those nights.

It feels like hours before I get up to retrieve the food, but a flip of my phone tells me it's only about ten minutes since I last checked. No new messages, either. Nothing. Warm soup and crackers. It's surely one of those nights.

I'd put something on; music or a movie or something. It's too late for that, though. It would only make it worse. The only fix isn't here and I'm not sure to what extent. He could be crossing the street. He could be some blocks away. He could be above the atmosphere.

The soup is nice. The crackers fall apart before I remember I've dropped them into the soup, so I stop. I'll mush them into the broth when I finish the noodles. Then I'll set the dishes next to my bed and stare at my phone until I fall asleep, if I can.

It's after fourteen minutes of watching the clock in the corner of the screen that I notice the tapping isn't in my head. It's not what I've pretended to hear for almost a day. It's actually at my window.

I jump up and rush to it, shoving it open and looking down and there he is. He stops his arm and then drops it to his side, letting go of the pebble. Then he smiles. He points toward the front of the house and I shake my head furiously. Mom wouldn't want him here now, and I need him. Now.

He starts climbing the tree and I start crying, trying to find the words to say. They aren't anywhere. I don't have them. He crawls into the window and I take a step back. He shuts and locks the window, then turns to me.

"Dark in here, Buttercup."

I nod. He reaches for my wrist and looks over my arm, rubbing his fingers over it. Then he pulls me in. We stand there for a while. It's not a heavy cry, but I can't stop the tears. The thoughts kept me from believing he'd really come tonight.

"Sorry. Karen needed something and then on the way back this guy who _had_ to have been drunk ran an obvious red light and- I came as soon as I could. Have you eaten?"

I nodded against him.

"Good. Sleep?"

"Bathroom. Then sleep."

I pulled away from him. He laughed and shucked off his jacket. I didn't feel all that better, but breathing didn't feel wrong anymore. Neither did being away from my bed. Coming back, I lifted the blankets and snuggled up as close to him as I could. He rubbed circles on my back.

He kept apologizing, sporadically and in a whisper I could barely hear. I fell asleep to it.


End file.
